


Balancing Act

by Grey (grey853)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 03:48:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey853/pseuds/Grey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An overworked Blair makes himself sick avoiding his feelings about Jim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Balancing Act

**Author's Note:**

> This is a revised version of the one which appeared in COME TO YOUR SENSES 5.

## Balancing Act

by Grey

Author's webpage: <http://grey.ravenshadow.net/>

* * *

Author's disclaimer: These guys don't belong to me.

Disclaimer: The guys don't belong to me and never will. 

Notes: This story appeared in Come to Your Senses 5 available through Mysti Frank, but has been revised. 

Summary: An overworked Blair becomes ill as he fights to avoid admitting his feelings for Jim. 

* * *

Balancing Act  
by Grey 

Blair Sandburg paced like a madman, back and forth, running his nervous hands through thick, tangled curls. Frantically he muttered to himself, "Fuck. Why am I so stupid? I can't believe this. If I had any sense, I'd be gone by now. Jesus." 

His head continued to pound, the ache a steady throb inside his skull. For the last four nights he'd graded papers, worked on his lectures, planned classes, and did countless other tedious tasks that drove nails through his forehead and into his coffin. During the day he packed responsibility at the university along with the time dedicated to Jim. He liked the excitement of police work, but lately it'd only been a terrible burden, a struggle to push back sadness. Just thinking about the ugliness of the most recent case of child murders brought on an involuntary shudder. 

"Damn. Not again." The agonizing spikes in his temples came with a wave of nausea. Blair dashed to the bathroom just in time to do a few dry heaves over the toilet. Busy trying to keep from fainting, he missed the metallic scrape of the key in the lock. 

Jim entered the loft and recognized the smell of bile before he even shrugged off his coat. Immediate concern coated his words, his voice tense. "Hey, Chief. What's going on? You okay?" As he headed for the bathroom, Blair came out with a wet cloth to his mouth. 

"Hey. I didn't expect you home so soon." 

"What's wrong? You look like shit, green shit at that." 

"Gee, thanks, Jim. That makes me feel so much better." 

As Jim reached to check out his friend, Blair pulled away. The younger man moved quickly around and went into the kitchen. Ignoring his friend's confused looks, he got out a kettle to boil some water. 

"Seriously. What's going on?" 

"I'm fine. Something just didn't agree with me, that's all." 

"That's been happening a lot lately, this running argument with whatever you try to eat." 

"What's that supposed to mean, man?" 

"I mean you haven't been eating much and when you do, you're not keeping it down." 

"It's not that bad. Maybe it's a bug or something. It's winter flu season. A criminal's not the only thing that can wound a guy." 

"True, but this seems more serious. Maybe you should go see a doctor." 

"Yeah, well, if I'm not better in a day or two, maybe. Now, what do you want for supper?" 

Blair continued to busy himself getting down cups and plates. He looked through the cabinets, trying to decide what to fix for dinner. Routine could be his savior. Fix the meal, get Jim in front of the set, then sneak off to try to catch up with his work, anything to avoid thinking about what he really wanted to do with his Sentinel. Another pain flashed before his eyes. 

Jim couldn't help but catch the sudden spasm washing over his partner. Again he tried to reach out and touch him, but Blair flinched away. He'd always made small contacts before, but now it was like Sandburg didn't want him anywhere near him. He couldn't figure out the problem. At any rate, his main concern was his friend's current unhealthy state. 

"Just go sit down. I'll fix us some soup or something." 

Blair worked a weak smile. "Jim, please. If you're worried about my health, feeding me your cooking isn't going to help." 

"Funny, Sandburg. But seriously, you're not going to do anybody any good if you pass out and do yourself some damage." 

"Or get blood on your floors." 

The tight tone of his voice alerted Jim to an underlying hostility that surprised him. Chalking it up to illness, he let it slide. 

"Come on. Go sit down. I'll bring you some tea and then fix us something. I'm sure you've got a meal or two frozen so all I have to do is thaw. I can do thaw." 

"Okay. There's some stew in the freezer and fresh bread. All you have do is toast the bread on..." 

"Sandburg, I can warm bread, too. I'm just full of talents. Go sit." 

Suddenly too tired to stand much longer, Blair nodded. Moving to the sofa, he stumbled, only just catching himself at the last moment. "Man, you've got to stop using so much wax on the floors. Might as well be ice skating." 

"Yeah, right." More concerned than ever, Jim asked, "You sure you're okay? We can always go to that immediate care center down on Tate street." 

"Just bring me some tea. I'm tired, that's all." 

"You might try sleeping for that." 

"Oh man, you're worse than having my Mom on my back all the time." 

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" 

"It means back off. I get really tired of you bossing me around and making little comments like that. It's like you don't think I can take care of myself or something. I mean, fuck, I take care of plenty. I do tons of stuff at the university and down at the station that paper work doesn't get done by itself. Who do you think set up that new data base Simon's been bitching about for weeks? And then..." 

"Whoa, there, Chief. All I said was that you might try sleeping. You haven't been doing much of that lately. And you're right, you do an awful lot, maybe too much. Maybe you should cut back some." 

"There you go again, telling me what to do. You're not hearing me, man. I just need you to back off." 

Shocked at the vehemence behind the words, Jim stood there with the hot cup of herbal tea. Confusion clouded his thoughts as he tried to think of something to say that wouldn't piss off his already angry friend. Finally after a few moments, he managed, "I don't mean to tell you want to do. I'm just worried about you. You're not yourself lately." 

"Then who the fuck am I?" The harshness of his own words suddenly subdued him. Pausing and then looking down guiltily, he brushed back his unruly curls. "Man, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say all that. You're right. I am tired. I haven't been able to sleep. There's just this incredible amount of stuff to do. There's so much going on at school and it's right at the end of term. There are research papers I have to get graded and back before the kids can take the final, which I haven't even written yet. Then there's this syllabus that needed to be turned in two weeks ago, not to mention three different TA's have palmed off some of their tutorials on me. That's just a mere top layer of stuff. It just gets going round and round in my head, and sleep, well it just doesn't seem to fit into the top 10 list of things to do." 

"Then there's the police work, right, Chief?" 

"Yeah, and there's that." 

"Is that why you went off on Rafferty today?" 

"Is that what this third degree's about? He's an asshole. Did you hear that sick fuck's comment about one of the murdered kids? He's got some nerve calling himself a goddamn cop." 

"Settle down, Chief. We both know Rafferty's an asshole, but you don't usually snap like that." 

"Don't I have a right to feelings, too? Everybody else can go around saying any goddamn ridiculous thing and I'm supposed to just smile and be good old happy camper Sandburg. Well, that sucks." 

"You're working too hard. Take some downtime." 

"Are you trying to get rid of me, man?" 

"Of course not. Don't go all paranoid on me." 

"Then what exactly are you saying here?" 

"I'm just saying, you're burning yourself out. Somehow you've got to find a way to balance the two worlds of the university and the station before you wear yourself down to nothing. Nobody can keep up with the pace you've set for yourself. It's too much even for the kinetic bundle of joy I've come to know as Blair Sandburg." 

Weakly, Blair admitted, "I've been trying, Jim. It's just that sometimes there's this avalanche of responsibility and I'm right at the bottom." 

As a peace offering, Jim handed Blair the steaming mug. "You've got to learn to pace yourself." 

Anger flared like a blast furnace. The mug crashed across the room, trails of liquid darkened the bricks while ceramic splinters littered the floor. Shocked by his own uncontrolled rage, Blair leaped off the couch. "Shit. Man, I'm sorry. I'm really fucked up here. I've got to go out for awhile. Clear my head." 

As he headed for the door, Jim quickly moved to block his path. "I don't think that's a good idea, Chief." 

Still furious, Blair hissed, his eyes narrow blazes. "Don't do this, man. Get the fuck out of my way. Just let me out of here." 

As Jim started to reach for his friend's shoulder, Blair slapped his hand away. "Don't fucking touch me. Now, I asked you once to get out of my way. You've got no right to keep me here." 

Lowering his eyes, trying desperately to control his ragged breathing, he forced the next few words through clenched teeth. "I just need some space. I can't breathe right now." 

Jim studied the barely contained fury and then reluctantly moved out of Blair's path. His voice soft, he kept his words calm and even. "At least get a jacket. It's freezing out." 

"You're not my Mom, Jim." 

"I don't want to be your pall bearer either." 

"Back off. I took care of myself before you came into my life and I can take care of myself now. I think I can manage to go for a simple walk on my own." Biting off his words, he jerked open the door and headed down the stairs before Jim had a chance to respond. 

After a few moments passed, Jim whispered, "So, what's going on here, Chief? Why are you running?" 

* * *

After a long and fretful hour, Jim finally heard footsteps. The unmistakable, but too rapid heartbeat alarmed him as Blair approached the stairs below. Determined to let his friend set the pace, Jim remained on the sofa while his chilled partner entered the loft. It'd been snowing and his curls dangled wet around his flushed face, the exposed skin pink and his nose a raw red. 

The sentinel silently watched as Blair proceeded to heat some more water. The broken mug had already been cleaned away, though the violence of its breaking still echoed in Jim's mind. Blair continued his own silence as he went into the bathroom and shut the door. Jim heard the latch click to lock. Troubled by the sound, he wondered why Blair suddenly seemed to feel unsafe in his own home. The rushing shower couldn't cover the cold-weather sniffles keeping pace with Blair's wheezy breathing. 

Within a few minutes after the water stopped, Blair appeared, damp and dressed in clean sweats. After pouring the boiling water over the tea, he finally turned to Jim. Slightly ashamed, he said quietly, "I'm sorry about the scene earlier." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah, I was really tired. It's been tough at school lately and as you know I haven't been sleeping." 

"You've never been much on sleeping." 

"I know, but I have..not...been...sleeping....at ...all. I mean, nothing, nada, the REM police are waiting at my door. I can't even doze off even though I feel like I'm going to fall out any minute." 

"So, what's the problem?" 

"It's not just one thing. It's a bunch of stuff. It's no big deal, man." 

"Well, it's a big deal when you make yourself sick over it and start attacking the wall with coffee mugs, Chief." 

"I said I was sorry." 

Blair's distress over his teasing worried Jim even more. "Why won't you tell me about what's bothering you?" 

"Can't. Nothing to tell." Blair stayed standing in the kitchen as he nervously stirred the hay-colored tea. 

Jim took in all the vitals of his roommate, noting again the rapid pulse and breathing coupled with the congested breathing and slight fever. Concern knocked reason in the teeth. He gripped the back of the couch to keep himself from trying to physically reach out to his friend. "Chief, why don't you come in here and explain to me, using all those fancy big words of yours, how nothing to tell translates into that little episode I witnessed earlier?" 

Pushing his still-damp hair back away from his face, Blair shook his head in frustration. "I said I was sorry, Jim. I mean, you get to be grouchy all the time. Don't I get a swing at it every once in awhile? What's the difference?" 

"The difference is, you Blair Sandburg, are one of the least violent people I've ever known. It takes a major deal to piss you off and when you do get upset, you never keep it very long. Tonight I come home to an ambush and I don't even know what war I've stumbled into." 

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean to go off on you like that." 

"Stop saying you're sorry, Sandburg, and tell me something that has some meaning. Tell me something that will make it better for you, something that you need to say." Before he continued the thought, his attention focused on his guide again. "Jesus, Blair, are you okay? Your heart's beating so fast, it's scary." 

"The dangers of being a sentinel, Jim. Dial down your hearing and you don't have to listen to it." 

"I don't have to have hyperactive senses to know you're in some kind of trouble here. So, why's it so hard to talk to me all of a sudden?" 

"This is something I have to deal with on my own, Jim. I'm sorry you're upset or angry with me..." 

"Shit, I'm not angry at you. I'm just worried. Tell me what's going on." 

"I just can't talk about it." 

After a brief silence, Jim spoke softly. "So, Blair Sandburg, the guy who's always nagging and lecturing me about being honest and getting his feelings out in the open can't do the same? Isn't that a bit hypocritical, Chief?" 

Refusing to meet his eyes, Blair studied the floor. "Don't keep pushing this, Jim. I just can't talk about it." 

"I don't believe that." 

Blair didn't answer, but sneezed several times and quickly followed up with a coughing-sneeze combo. "Oh, man, I feel rough here." 

Before Jim could jump in with his obvious told you so's, Blair held up a staying hand. "Don't even, man. I've got some papers to mark and then I'm going to bed. You are right about one thing. I have got to get some sleep." 

"You didn't eat anything." 

"If I get hungry later, I'll eat. Right now, I'm too tired." 

Jim nodded and added, "We'll talk tomorrow then." 

Blair shrugged and then coughed some more before heading toward his bedroom. The door latched shut and locked behind him. 

Still puzzled by the strange behavior, Jim just shook his head and then headed upstairs. 

* * *

By 3 A.M. Jim still lay wide awake listening to the coughing and sniffling going on below him. Blair had finally turned off the light but the wheezing and labored breathing followed by a squeaking mattress testified to his still wakeful state. Finally, he'd had enough. He got up, put on his robe, and went downstairs. After knocking once, he spoke through the door. "Hey, Blair, you sound awful. Are you okay?" 

"I think I have a cold." 

"No shit. Look, I've got some cold capsules. Take one and get some rest." 

He heard Blair as he rolled out of bed and shuffled his way to the door. The lock clicked and he peeked out, "You know I don't take that stuff." 

Jim looked with pity at the puffy eyes and clogged red nose. "One night won't hurt." 

"No thanks." 

"How about some peppermint tea then?" 

"It's 3 in the morning, man." 

"It's not like either of us are sleeping here, Chief." 

"Good point. Okay." 

"Get back in bed and I'll bring it to you when it's ready." 

Like a little child, Blair nodded and stumbled back to cocoon himself in the covers. When the brew finished, Jim took it into his friend. Blair drank it and then lay back against of stack of pillows that helped keep him elevated to breath easier. 

"Better?" 

"Yeah. Thanks, man." 

"Get some sleep, Sandburg." 

His eyes already shut, Blair settled back, but the air rattled in his chest. Jim hated the raspy wetness of it. Looking on with concern, he decided that if he wasn't a hell of a lot better by morning, there would be a doctor's visit, even if he had to drag his stubborn ass there himself. 

* * *

By 7 A.M. a sluggish Blair moved awkwardly around the kitchen fixing breakfast. He dropped a pan and as he leaned forward to retrieve it, found his vision narrowed into blackness. A shaky hand grabbed the cabinet's edge to steady himself, his head pounding like a major parade against the interior of his skull. "Oh, man, this is fun." 

Jim sensed the fever even before he got to the bottom of the stairs. "Shit, Sandburg. You need to get back in bed. You're burning up down here." 

"Can't. I've got this big final to review in class today. I never did finish grading those papers, so like I really have to be there. There is no way I can opt out." 

"No way you should be anywhere but a doctor's office. Your temperature is over 103 and your lungs sound like a bubbling fish tank." 

A slight smile touched Blair's unnaturally pale lips. "Cool, Jim. You can tell that from over there? Wow, and you're not even touching me. I've got to set up some tests to see what your limits are." 

"Yeah, cool. Now tell me who I call to either cancel your class or get someone else to cover it." 

Defeated, Blair slumped down into the kitchen chair, the utter fatigue darkening his face. "I know you're probably right. There's no denying that I feel like absolute shit. Even so, I have to go. It's finals week. That's like the closing of a big case for you. You know you'd never let another detective take over no matter how bad you felt." 

"But this is different, Chief." 

A thin spark of the old anger flared. "How's it different, Jim? Because it's just school, it's not important? Is that what you're trying to say, because if it is, that really pisses me off." 

"I didn't mean it like that, Blair." 

A coughing fit overwhelmed him, and Jim handed him a box of tissues. After spasms finally subsided, his breathing remained labored and his voice raspy. "I really have to get ready to go." 

"Don't be crazy. Tell the kids to do study groups or get another TA to cover. Lord knows, there's got to be plenty of those guys who owe you favors. It's time to collect." 

"You don't understand. It's the week before finals. That means everyone, and I do mean everyone, is way too busy. Besides, you've got the Stanton case to finish. I'm supposed to be doing the statements this afternoon, making sure the documents are all in order and organized, ready for trial. Believe me, Jim, I want to make sure nothing keeps that sick bastard from spending the rest of his sorry existence behind bars." 

"You really are crazy if you think you're going to the station like this. Chief, you can't help being sick." 

"I've got responsibilities. I can't mess those up." 

"It'll only be a few days, just until you're better." 

Blair shook his head, the painful strobe of lights clouding his vision making him even more dizzy. The air around him scratched his skin, but he ignored it as he struggled to make his point. "This is my job. I can't afford to lose it." 

"Jesus, Blair, is this about money? Are you afraid of getting fired?" 

"I don't get paid by the police, Jim. All I get is what the university pays me and any grant money I can hustle. I hate feeling like I'm always in debt to you. I pay rent, but we both know it's not half the expenses. I can never make ends meet and I'm constantly behind. This job is it for me, man." 

Blair rose and promptly found himself seated again. Pushing away from the table, he settled his head down between his knees and found himself racked with another major round of coughing. This time the tissue blossomed a rusty red. 

"That's it, Sandburg. Enough. We'll discuss all these money issues later. I know it's important, but so is your health. Face it, Chief. You're temporarily grounded whether you like it or not." 

Blair accepted help to get up and be led back to bed. Jim positioned him for the easiest breathing before he stood back. "I'm going to go call Simon and then the university. After that it's either to the doctor's or the emergency room." 

With barely enough strength to speak, Blair managed to croak, "Okay." 

"Try to rest until I can get things done." Watching his friend and companion sink down into sleep gave him no comfort. The rising fever oiled Blair's flushed skin, the sweat giving it an unhealthy shine. His breathing grated as the air moved like a brick over sandpaper, scraping in and out of his lungs. 

"This is not good, Chief. Not good at all." 

* * *

The Cascade West Side Medical Clinic bulged at the seams with people standing as they waited. Blair slumped forward, his head resting on his hands, and continued to periodically cough up rust-colored sputum. Jim's concern grew and he wondered if he shouldn't have just taken him directly to the hospital. 

"Mr. Sandburg, I need you to fill out these forms and then the doctor will see you shortly." The receptionist's whiny voice grated on Jim's nerves. He went up and got the clipboard with the forms and brought them back to Blair. 

"Can you handle this, Chief?" 

"Forms are my life." Another coughing countdown struck. 

"Jesus, Blair. Don't bring up a lung." Some of the other patients tried leaning a little further away. 

Suddenly more attentive, the nurse opened the door and called, " Mr. Sandburg, why don't you come on back." 

Clumsily, Blair got to his feet trying awkwardly to balance the papers and the fist full of used tissues. "God, I hate being sick. I'll be back in a minute, Jim." 

"Don't count on it. But I'll be here when you do get out." 

Jim fought the urge to try to go back with his friend. Blair could obfuscate with the best, but when it came to lying about his health, he was the best. Of course, it would be a little hard to lie when he was standing right there looking like the poster boy for puny anthropologist of the year. Only about 30 minutes passed before Blair came back into the waiting room looking thoroughly disgusted. 

"Man, this really sucks. Let's get out here, Jim." 

"What's wrong? What going on?' 

"Come on. I'll tell you when we get to the truck." 

Breathing heavily from just simply walking outside, Blair waited as Jim unlocked the passenger's door. As he climbed in, he muttered pitifully, "I have to go over to the hospital for x-rays and some tests." 

"What does the doctor think is wrong, Chief?' 

"He's says it's probably pneumonia, but he wants to be sure." 

"Pneumonia? Damn. So, do you get shots or what?" 

"Look, why don't you just drop me off and you go on back to work. I'll call after the tests." 

"I'm not just going to just drop you off, Sandburg." 

Blair suddenly jerked the door open and lunged back out of the truck. He leaned heavily on the hood and began to retch. After a few moments the heaving stopped, but then coughing began. Clumps of bloody sputum fell to the ground. 

Coming quickly to his friend's side, he brought out more tissues and handed them to him. "Shit, Blair, let's get you to the hospital. I think you need to be checked in." 

"Yeah, I know. I hate this. I really hate being sick like this." 

"Nobody likes being sick. It just happens. You'll get through this if you'll just use a little sense and let somebody help you." 

Weakly trying to get enough breath to speak, Blair continued. "That's what I hate most about it. I hate depending on somebody else." 

"So who's the control freak here, Sandburg? Didn't you once tell me that true strength is being able to give up control?" 

"I hate it when you use my own words against me like that, man. Okay, help me get to the hospital, because, right now, I can barely see to breath." 

"You got it, Chief. Just hang on and I'll get you there. Let me play the guide for awhile." 

With that Jim maneuvered Blair back inside the truck and fastened the seat belt. By the time he made the ten minute drive to Cascade Memorial, a terrible wheeze joined the cough. After parking, he got Blair inside where Dr. Thurman had already arranged for his admittance. Once in his room, Blair was asked to change into his gown. A history was taken, along with blood, urine, and sputum. Then he was wheeled down to radiology. By the time he got back to his room, he sagged in misery, groaning and holding his head. 

As soon as he saw Jim waiting for him, he begged, "Man, this is one of those few times when I'm glad you carry a gun. Just shoot me now and get this over with." 

"Come on, Chief. You've been shot before. This isn't so bad compared to that." 

"Yeah, well, that's easy for you to say. Your ass is still covered." 

A throaty voice of command came from the doorway, "Mr. Sandburg, you need to be in bed right now. Dr. Thurman is on his way over to see you, but he's already ordered some medication and I need to start an IV." 

"Oh man, this is really not my day." 

"Come on, Sandburg. Let me help you up there." 

Intent on helping himself, Blair shooed him away. "I can do it. Just give me a minute." As soon as he tried to hold his gown shut and turn himself to get up in the bed, another coughing episode began. He almost fell on his head. "Shit." 

The nurse moved almost as quickly as Jim to catch him and between the two of them they managed to get the limp figure under the sheets. Then she hit the motor and cranked up the head of the bed so he could sit and breathe more comfortably. 

"Mr. Sandburg, I'd appreciated it if you'd try not to hurt yourself during my shift. I really am trying to get that safety award bonus money and I can't do that if you get a concussion while trying to be macho." 

Jim cleared his throat and took pity on his ailing buddy. He glanced at the nurse's name tag and said, "Nurse Allen, I can pretty much promise that Mr. Sandburg here is going to do better." 

"And how can you promise that, Mr. ..?" 

"Ellison. Detective Ellison, Cascade P.D. Mr. Sandburg is my partner and he knows that if he doesn't behave, my Captain will make pneumonia look like a gnat bite." 

"Well, why don't you convince him of that while I go get the oxygen, medication, and IV ready." 

"Certainly." As soon as she left, Jim turned his full attention back to his roommate and best friend. Blair sat with his arms tightly crossed, pouting at his predicament. 

"I hate it when you talk about me like I'm not here or like I'm some kind of kid." 

"Then don't act like a kid." 

"There you go again, bossing me around." 

Jim leaned across to settle his arm on the raised part of the bed and noticed the immediate flinch response. Blair pulled away and his heartbeat increased. "Chief, you want to tell me why you're all of a sudden either really pissed or afraid of me? Have I done something or what?" 

"I don't know what you're talking about." 

The heart pounded faster. "Blair, it's a good thing there's no monitor hooked up yet or it'd be beeping its damn circuits off. This probably isn't the time to go into it, because I know you're sick, but I swear this seems like more than that. There's something you're not telling me." 

He refused to look at his friend, his sentinel. He couldn't bring himself to look directly at the man he loved and continue to lie to his face. At the same time he could never tell him how he really felt. Jim Ellison valued honesty above all things and to stay with him, he had to keep telling lies. Blair Sandburg sometimes really hated the ironies of life. 

"You're seeing something that's not there, man. I just feel like shit and my head is really screwed up right now. It's hard to meditate when you feel like you're breathing splintered glass." 

Dr. Thurman entered the room and interrupted, "Splintered glass, eh? Is this the same man who just a few hours ago tried to tell me he just had a cold?" 

"Go ahead, doc, rub it in. Do you get some kind of vicarious kick when you're right like that?" 

"Of course not, Blair. But you always amuse me. No matter what, you always do the same thing. Whether it's a bullet or severe pneumonia, you're always just fine." 

"But he isn't fine is he?" 

"Not hardly, Jim. He's going to need major antibiotics and rest for several days." 

"I still don't see why I can't just get a prescription and go home," Blair complained. 

Dr. Thurman grinned as he and Jim exchanged knowing glances. "So, then you'd be sure to follow all my orders and stay in bed, right? Listen, Blair, we both know you're a terrible patient, worse than Jim even." 

"Hey, doc, that's not fair." 

"Well, it's true, Jim. You at least follow my directions most of the time. I'd need a 24 hour guard for this stubborn person. Seriously, Blair, you need IV antibiotics and fluids. The drugs needed are extremely harsh and may make you queasy even on IV. There's no way you could tolerate them on your stomach. In addition, you obviously haven't been getting enough to eat or drink because you're electrolytes are all out of balance and you're exhausted. I want you here where I can keep an eye on you for a few days. You're a very sick individual right now." 

As if to emphasize his point, Blair pulled his legs up as a wave of coughing shook his whole body. Dr. Thurman leaned over and patted Blair's arm only to have him jerk away. "It's okay. I just want you to lie back. I'm going to give you something to reduce the pain in your chest and let you sleep." 

"Man, this just really sucks." 

"Hang in there, Chief. It'll get better." 

The nurse entered with a cart, monitor, and tray for the IV, needles, tubes, and other medications. "We're going to leave for now, Blair. Nurse Allen here will take good care of you." 

Dr. Thurman motioned for Jim to follow him out. He remained quiet and led the detective into a nearby empty room. "Jim, we've known each other for a couple of years now, right?" 

"Yeah?" 

"And I've been Blair's doctor ever since he started working with the force, so I figure I've got a pretty good handle on what's going on with both of you as my patients." 

"What are you trying to get at here?" 

"Well, normally I wouldn't discuss a patient with someone other than family, but you're listed as his next of kin along with his mother and I know how close the two of you are. I need to ask if something's happened to Blair recently that as his doctor I should know about?" 

"I'm not getting your point." 

"Blair's acted a bit differently the last two times I've seen him recently." 

"Wait a minute. Last two times? When was the last time before this morning that you've seen him?" 

"About a month ago. He came in saying he was having a lot of trouble sleeping and concentrating." 

"Well, he has been, but it surprises me that he came to see you. It surprises me more that he didn't tell me about it." 

"I know. Frankly, some of the things he said concerned me then and even more now. In addition, he's pretty much sabotaged his health. I was wondering if you knew what it was that was bothering him so much?" 

Shaking his head in confusion, Jim responded, "Not a clue. Did he tell you anything else when he came to see you?" 

"He mentioned that you two were working on a serial child abuse and murder case and that he was having trouble separating himself from the details." 

"The Stanton case." Jim nodded in terrible realization. A parade of visual flashes pranced in front of him--Blair's pained expressions as he'd visited the scenes, his unusual quiet, and his nervous, quick-tempered outburst yesterday in the bullpen when someone had made a stupid remark about child molesters. "Damn, I never made the connection." 

"What connection, Jim?" 

"Blair's been edgy as a starved cat since that whole case started. I never put it all together until now." 

Dr. Thurman tilted his head and studied the man in front of him as though considering his words more carefully than usual before speaking. "Has Blair ever talked much about his own childhood to you?" 

"Are you suggesting that Blair might have been abused when he was younger?" 

"Not necessarily. I just thought it might explain his reaction. He's never said anything to me that would act as a foundation for such an assumption." 

"Me, either really. Besides, you know Blair. He's really sensitive about most things. Even hardened cops who've been on the job for years have trouble with abuse cases." 

"Cops like you, Jim?" 

Uncomfortable with the direction of the question, Jim responded curtly, "Yeah, like me. This was a particularly nasty piece of work, too. I have to admit that it even bothered me." 

"Maybe more than you'd like to admit?" 

"Maybe. But I do believe we were talking about Blair here." 

"Yes, we were. Most likely he's just reacting to the case as any civilian, but there may be more to it than that. You know he usually prefers to use homeopathic treatments whenever he can. He's really quite emphatic about it. I guess it surprised me that he'd even come to me for help." 

"So, what did you end up doing for him when he saw you?" 

"I gave him a prescription for a light sedative for sleeping and mentioned that he might want to try using an anti-depressant. He, of course, shot that idea down in a hurry." 

"An anti-depressant. Blair?" 

"He had a lot of symptoms of a depressive episode." 

"Yeah, but, Doc, Blair? He's always so up, so full of energy. He usually makes me tired just watching." 

"Is he acting energetic or happy now? When I saw him, he looked pretty much miserable. Haven't you noticed anything disturbing about his behavior?" 

The question stung. He'd always prided himself in keeping an alert watch over his friend. Thinking back, he realized that he'd fucked up big time as blessed protector and had missed a lot of obvious alarms. "What do you think the problem is, Doc?" 

Thurman shook his head. "I tried to get him to tell me about it. All he'd say was that it was the case along with trying to keep up with the tremendous amount of responsibility from the school as well as the station. You know how much he's afraid of disappointing you, don't you?" 

"Disappointing me how?" 

"Let's face it. You are a hard man to please." Before Jim had a chance to jump in at his own defense, Thurman continued, "I don't mean that in a harsh way. You don't demand anymore from anybody else than you do yourself, but you are a perfectionist. If you think about it, you'll also probably realize that Blair doesn't have the strongest ego. When he got shot, he was more concerned that other people might be inconvenience by his wound than his own health. Even the slightest thing, like a late paper or a mistake, takes on epic proportions in his mind." 

"Where are you getting this stuff, Doc?" 

"Jim, you're a detective. You observe people all day and come up with all kinds of mini-profiles of who did what and why. Yet, I have to say, you're pretty dense when it comes to your own life. Blair is obsessed with pleasing you, and frankly, you're pretty close to the same point about protecting him." 

"He's my best friend." 

"That goes without saying. But be honest with yourself, Jim. Is he more than that?" 

"If you're trying to say that I think of Blair like family, then you're right. I do think of him like blood. He's certainly been there for me more than any actual family ever has been." 

"I suppose that's a start." 

Confused by the cryptic comments, Jim asked, "The start of what, Doc? You're not making any sense to me. What's all this got to do with helping Blair anyway?" 

"Look, Jim, why don't you just go see him before he goes to sleep. Then go home or work and think about it. Come back later tonight and bring him his robe and things. Maybe after you've thought some more, you can figure out what's been bothering him and help sort it out." 

Reluctantly, Jim agreed. "I don't like leaving him, but you're right, I do need to go by the station and finish up some reports on the Stanton case and Blair's going to need his stuff." 

"I'll see you later on." 

"Right. Later." Jim watched as the gray-haired physician left and walked down the hall. Still baffled by some of his comments, he vowed to try to figure them out. 

He went across to Blair's room and found his friend already sleeping, his dark curls clinging to his fever-damp skin. Around his face the oxygen tube snaked like a luminous ribbon, it's faint hissing helping to relieve the ragged breathing. Jim could actually hear the plop as the clear liquid dripped from the IV bag into the regulating bubble of the monitor. The regular rhythm of Blair's resting heart soothed the Sentinel's concerns. He tried to imagine the medicine pumping into his friend, destroying all the evil invaders attacking his compact, well-formed body. He needed that saving thought, just like he needed his friend. A slight tremor shook him as he ached to touch his sleeping guide. The vision of where he wanted to touch him forced him to turn away and flee to the safety of the distant station and all those chest-pounding, hard-ass cops. 

* * *

"Hey, Jim, how's Sandburg doing?" Captain Simon Banks chewed mercilessly on the end of the cigar as he made his inquiry. 

"He's got pneumonia. They've got him hooked to all kinds of monitors and he's pretty drugged up." 

"Probably the only way to keep the kid down." 

"Right, sir." 

"Come on, Jim. Nothing can keep Sandburg down for long. Don't worry so much. He'll be okay." 

"I hope so, sir." 

Banks studied the creased features of his best detective. What he saw truly concerned him. "Jim, what else is wrong?" 

"Nothing, sir." 

"Yeah, and there's not a guilty man in prison either." 

Jim stuffed his hands deep in his pockets and stared out of the window in Banks's office. "Simon, have you noticed anything different about Blair the last few weeks?" 

"Like what?" 

"Has he seemed more quiet or withdrawn?" 

"Those aren't words I'd ever use to describe Sandburg." 

"Normally that's true. But think about it, sir. Please help me out here. Has something been going on that I've been missing?" 

Taking time to consider the question seriously, Banks finally admitted, "Now that you mention it, he has been a bit more subdued than usual, but I just thought that was because he'd been hanging around you too much." 

"Gee, thanks, Simon." 

"I just mean, I never really paid that much attention. Though yesterday's little episode surprised the hell out of me." 

"You and me both, sir." 

"What exactly happened anyway? I was in my office and heard Sandburg shouting at Rafferty about being an asshole and then storming out." 

"Rafferty is an asshole, sir." 

"True. You and I know that and may even say it in here, but it's not like Sandburg to lose his cool like that. He hardly ever gets pissed and when he does, he usually just runs away. Let's face it, Jim. Avoidance could be the kid's middle name." 

"Yeah, confrontation is not one of his favorite things." 

"I think that's why he let's you get away with so much." 

Jim jerked his attention away from the glass and turned toward his captain. "What are you talking about?" 

"I'm talking about the way you're always snapping and chewing him out for the little stuff. I know you don't mean anything by it. You're a grouchy son of a bitch with everybody, but the kid takes it personally." 

"I think you're exaggerating, Simon." 

"Deny it all you want, Jim, but the kid takes every word from your lips as gospel. If you praised him often enough, we could save a fortune in energy bills because he'd light up the station for free. By the same token, when you rag him out for missing a clue at the scene, leaving out a hyphen in an ID number on a report, or some silly shit, he looks like you just put a bullet in his head." 

Jim stood, numb from disbelief. "What's the matter with me, Simon?" 

"You're just another hardened, street-wise cop, Jim. Blair just isn't like us. He takes everything to heart." 

"You're the second person to tell me that today." 

"Then maybe you ought to listen, huh." 

"Yeah, maybe. I can't believe I've missed all this. Some detective I am." 

"Detective of the year, too. Don't be so hard on yourself, Jim. Sandburg has been a blessing in your life, though he's a pain in the ass for me. Even so, I have to confess he kind of grows on a fellow." 

"What are you talking about, Simon?" 

"Listen, Jim, before Sandburg came along we both know you were one sorry son of a bitch, downright morose with an evil temper. Hell, not that I minded. In comparison I always looked like the pussy cat instead of the bear. The temper's still pretty rough, but you control it better. I've seen the change, man. It's been quite an interesting transformation." 

"So, you're saying you like the improvements?" 

"What I'm saying is that with the kid along I've never seen you work better. No other cop on the force can touch you on a case, but..." 

"But what?" 

"This really isn't my place to say, but I'm going to go out on a limb and say it anyway. Did it ever occur to you that maybe the kid has a crush on you?" 

Jim fell back away from the desk as if slapped. The air around him settled like a heavy, scratchy-edged blanket to muffle his hearing. He couldn't take in the words. He barely felt Simon's hand on his elbow pleading to get his attention. 

"Jim? Come on, Jim... come on back, man." 

"Simon? Sorry." He took a deep breath to try to clear the cotton from his befuddled thoughts. "Did you actually say what I think you said?" 

"Didn't mean to make you zone, man. I'm almost afraid to continue the conversation if you're going to do the zombie act. Did I ever mention how unnerving it is when you do that?" 

"Sorry, Simon. I've just had a really hard day. I didn't get much sleep last night. Blair started getting sick and then this morning with the hospital and all, well, it's been a bit hectic." 

"And scary?" 

"Yeah, that, too." 

"So, are you going to answer my question, Jim? I know it's none of my business, but do you think Blair's feelings for you might be more than just friendship?" 

"To be honest, sir, I've always thought Blair was probably one of the straightest guys I've ever met. You've seen the parade of women just from the station. I can't imagine him having any of those kind of feelings for me." 

"Really? He's always seemed pretty flexible to me. And what about your feelings about him?" 

Jim flushed scarlet and dropped his gaze away from his friends intense dark eyes. "Simon, I think we'd better change this subject. Blair's my friend and he's sick right now. Anything else is between us and frankly, I'm starting to feel very uncomfortable with this whole discussion. We've been friends and colleagues for a long time and I don't want to jeopardize that." 

"And would admitting to less than platonic feelings for another man do that, Jim? It wouldn't for me. If I'm wrong here, I'm sorry, but I just want you to know that whatever happens, we'll be friends. I like the kid and despite your gruff nature, I consider you one of my closest friends both on and off the force. Don't be an ass and fuck up because of some preconceived notion that I couldn't possibly understand falling for someone out of the societal norms. Fuck normal, Jim. That label's never applied to you too much anyway." 

"That's enough, sir." 

Raising his hand in an apologetic gesture, Simon waved down any further discussion. "Go home, Jim. Get some rest and then go see the kid." 

"The Stanton case files aren't finished." 

"Then finish them tomorrow. The court hearing's not set yet and probably won't be for at least another three or four days. You'll have plenty of time to get those ducks in a row. Now, go home. That's an order. I'll come by later this evening if Sandburg is up for visitors. Get going." 

"Yes, sir." 

Only through careful concentration did Jim manage to make it down to his truck. He sat there a long time trying to sort through Simon's words. Had he been that obvious? Did Blair really feel the same way? Simon usually managed to be pretty on target with his ideas. It seemed almost too much to imagine that Jim Ellison could actually be in love with another man, but then, Blair wasn't just another man. He was his guide, the magical force that had saved him from insanity, the one person who understood the strangeness that had become his life. 

Jim jerked back when a dark hand tapped on the door. "Hey, Jim, you okay? You've been sitting here a long time, man." Brown studied him for a clue to the odd behavior. 

"I'm okay. I was just thinking." 

"Yeah, I heard about Blair. Hope he's going to be all right. Anything I can do?" 

"No, but I'll tell him you asked. Guess, I'd better go. Later." 

"Sure thing, Jim." Still keeping his hand on the edge of the truck, Brown added. "Drive carefully, man. Blair would never recover if you killed yourself driving like you usually do." 

"That's great coming from you. Weren't you the one who tied my record for most wrecked vehicles just last week?" 

"Yeah, but I don't have Blair to go home to now do I?" Before he could ask him what he meant, Brown was already to the door of the station. 

"Shit. Does the whole fucking world think we're a couple or what?" Jim squelched his own anger. It pissed him off that he wasn't sure whether he hated or liked the idea that other people already assumed and approved of the type of relationship that scared the shit out of him. Frustrated at not being able to understand his own feelings, he revved the engine and roared out of the parking garage. Nobody seemed at all that surprised that Det. Jim Ellison burned rubber as he headed home. 

* * *

Blair lay propped up against a mountain of pillows with the oxygen tube still at his nose. His natural color struggled to return, but his dilated pupils testified to a drugged state. 

"Hey, Chief. Feeling any better?" 

Blair waved a lazy hand at his friend. "Hey yourself, Jim. Where you been, man, and why are there two of you staring at me?" 

Jim chuckled at his guide's obviously inebriated, but pleasantly relaxed condition. "Sorry to disappoint, but there's just one of me as usual. As for where I've been, some of us have to work for a living, Sandburg." 

"Hey, sorry, man. I'd help if I could, but I swear I don't think I could type a report to save my life." 

"No kidding, Sandburg. So, are they treating you right?" 

"Couldn't tell you, man. I'm too spaced to know much." 

"What are they giving you besides antibiotics, Chief? I haven't seen you this soused since the last Christmas party when Jamison from vice spiked the egg nog." 

Blair giggled, drunk and happy. It was a wonderful sound. Then he started coughing again, which wasn't wonderful at all. Shaky, he grabbed some tissues as he fought to clear his lungs. After a few more minutes, he settled back. 

"Okay, Chief?" 

"Sure, Jim. Great." His voice rasped, feeble from the spasms and pain of strained muscles. "Sorry, man. It just really hurts to cough like that." 

"I imagine. It hurts to listen to it, much less do it. I wish there were something I could do to make it better." 

"Just you being here helps. I've missed you being here." Shyly Blair reached out to him like a frightened child might reach for reassurance. 

Jim surrounded the hand still warmed with fever with his own. He stroked the slight dryness of it with his thumb pad and forced down the incredible desire he had to taste it, to lap up the flavor of Blair that lingered there on the fingertips. He looked guiltily up into the clouded blue eyes of his drug-happy friend, who stared right back at him. 

"Anybody ever told you that you have the most adorable blue eyes, Jim?" 

"Adorable, Chief?" 

"Yeah, and your lips are cute, too. I won't even mention how your shoulders and ass are about the niftiest things on the planet." 

Jim grinned uneasily as he tried to play off the effect of his friend's words. "Oh, man, Blair, you're going to hate yourself when those drugs wear off." 

"I already do, man." 

"Why in the world would you say something like that?" 

"Because I hate the fact that I have to get blasted to the gills before I can really tell you how I feel. Stupid, huh?" 

Slowly, almost against his conscious will, Jim raised Blair's palm to his lips and kissed it. An involuntary groan escaped his throat, and he looked back into the stunned eyes of his friend, his best friend. "Not stupid, Chief. You want stupid, you just have to look my way." 

Struggling to keep his misty eyes from spilling, Blair managed to whisper, "Say what you mean, Jim." 

"I've been fighting this for awhile here, Chief. It isn't easy for me to admit that I've got these feelings, these desires, that I really can't explain. I mean I've never experienced anything like this before." 

Blair closed his eyes and shook his head before finally meeting Jim's unrelenting gaze. "You know we're a couple of dumbfucks." 

"You can say that again, Chief." 

"Dumbfucks, Jim. You and me both. Here I am practically ready to go apeshit over hiding my feelings and you're doing a major cover up yourself. God, we're both terrible liars." 

"Yeah, too good from too much practice." Still holding Blair's hand to his face, he rubbed it against his slightly bearded cheek. "Oh, man, you feel so delicious." 

"Now you tell me when I'm so drugged up I don't have the energy to put that hand to better use. What a tease." 

"I'm not trying to tease, Blair. I do have a serious question though." 

"More serious than admitting to wanting to have sex with a same sex partner?" 

"About equal on the serious scale. Why have you been avoiding my touch?" 

Blair looked away embarrassed. "You're going to think I'm an even bigger fool." 

"No way. I don't think you're a fool now. So, what's been going on?" 

"More fear. Lately these feelings have been so overwhelming that I was afraid to let you touch me, afraid you'd figure it out and then, bam, Blair would be out of there." 

"Damn, Blair, society has really done on number on the two of us. I can't wait to get you home so we can both start a deprograming session." 

"What'd you have in mind?" 

"You won't be stuck here forever, Chief. Call it incentive to get well in a hurry." As if to motivate further, he took the young man's thumb into his mouth and sucked it before moving on to lick the rest of the fingers. The salty taste mingled with a hint of eucalyptus scraped the back of his throat." 

"Jesus, Jim. Thank god this is a hospital. I think I may have a heart attack." 

"You'd better be stronger than that, Chief, because when I get you home, I plan to be sucking on more than your thumb." 

Blair scanned his friend in disbelief. "If anyone had asked me about the possibility that you'd be open to this, I would have said no way, man. Why the sudden admission, the quick turn around? I don't get it." 

"Tell me about it. I've been so busy fighting off the possibility that I could be having desires about another man, that it never occurred to me that you might be going through the same confusion. I mean, we've talked about everything except what was important, how we both really felt." 

"Confession time, Jim. I've felt this way about you almost from the beginning." 

Startled, Jim asked, "What about all the women?" 

"I like women. I've always liked women. I've even fallen for a few if you'll remember, but that was when I figured I didn't have a chance in hell of ever being with you. Plus, to be honest, I've never had feelings like this for a guy. The odd thing is I don't really think of you as a guy." 

"You're losing me here, Chief." 

Blair repositioned himself in the bed and found himself curled forward with another bout of coughing. By the time he finished, the fatigue and the steady fever brought a flush to his skin. Finally he managed to speak, his voice husky. "You're the person I always want to be with. I think about you all the time. No matter what's going on in my life, I run it by the Jim test." 

"Jim test?" 

"Yeah, like what would Jim think or say about it? You're my balance, the scale against which everything else is measured." 

"Jesus, Chief. I'm not all that." 

"You are to me, Jim. Plus, there are the other things." 

"What other things?" 

"Don't get mad, but sometimes I would think of us together, you know, doing things." 

Hearing the tinge of shyness creep into his friend's already weak voice, Jim prompted, "What things?" 

"You know, just things." 

"Don't wimp out on me now. Help me out so I don't misread this situation. I don't want to be the only one feeling like I've stepped into some alternative film production without getting a script." 

"For one thing, I like to think of your tongue. You've got an incredible tongue. I've watched you drink beer enough to know that you have a very talented mouth." 

Jim grinned back. "You with the Sandburg lips are talking to me about talent? Have you looked in a mirror? Your mouth should need a license. I can't tell you how many cold showers have been my savior after watching you eat a meal. And your hair, Chief. I've almost zoned trying to control my need to touch it. It smells of herbs and changes colors in the sunlight. I've seen it become a thousand shades of brown in the morning and a different thousand by sunset." 

"Gee, that's pretty, Jim." Blair's eyes closed and a smile decorated his face as he snuggled down into the pillows, his dark curls fanning out on the bleached white. "Say some more. I love your voice. It's like a horny panther purring in my ear. Just keep talking." The words trailed off as he drifted into a deep slumber. 

Jim stood carefully to wonder at the splendor of his young guide lying quietly in sleep. He reached a hungry hand over to stroke his thick brown hair. The springy strands combing through his fingers sent trails of smoke and fire though his hand, up his arm, into his chest, and then his groin. 

"I think it's time we had a little chat, my friend." Simon's voice cracked through the air. 

Jim reluctantly pulled his hand away and turned slowly to meet the amused eyes of his captain who regarded him from the doorway. "Maybe you're right, Simon." 

"I thought I might be. Come on, Detective Ellison. Sleeping Beauty there needs his rest." 

Jim took one more glance at the keeper of his soul before he left to have that long overdue heart-to-heart with someone who might actually have some idea about how to navigate this mess he so lovingly referred to as his life. 

the end 


End file.
